


Catboy!Merlin

by writteninhaste



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, catboy!Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has a magical mishap and Arthur rather enjoys it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catboy!Merlin

**Author's Note:**

> Now with wonderful art by [](http://shayla-kage.livejournal.com/profile)[**shayla_kage**](http://shayla-kage.livejournal.com/). Catboy!Merlin [here](http://quinmari.deviantart.com/#/d3eono5) and the rest of the wonderful artwork [here](http://shayla-kage.livejournal.com/14795.html)

Merlin sat on his bed, in the room off of Gauis’ chambers, pouring over the book of magic the old man had given him. His attention had been caught by the passage about transformations – namely, the process by which a human sorcerer transformed into an animal. A vague part of Merlin’s mind wondered whether, when Arthur was king, he could use this magic to spy in distant places. Perhaps if he were able to transform into a falcon – possibly his namesake – he would be able to travel the kingdom collecting information for Arthur. He could spot an army’s movements before they were ever a threat. The idea had merit.

The only problem however, was that the incantation required a vast amount of concentration, and Merlin was the first to admit that concentration was perhaps not his strongest trait. The magician needed to visualise the form of the animal he or she wished to assume and think of nothing else for the duration of the incantation. Even the slightest waver in concentration was warned to have disastrous results. This of course, was not enough to deter the young warlock.

Settling crossed legged upon his bed, Merlin repositioned the book until it was directly in front of him, and reviewed the instructions on how to transform into an animal.

The book stated that vertebrates were easier forms to attain than invertebrates, and mammals were easier than their avian and aquatic counterparts – as they shared more in common with the natural human form. Merlin also needed a creature, whose presence in the castle would not be remarked upon – something ordinary and mundane, that would allow him to explore the grounds and test out the limitations of the spell, without drawing attention to himself.

A dog barked outside, and for a moment Merlin considered taking the shape of one of Arthur’s great hunting hounds. But the memory of how the beasts slobbered and drooled had him wrinkling his nose in disgust. He settled instead for a cat. The castle had many rat-catchers and they slept in the warmth of the palace kitchens until their services were required – or prowled the grain silos looking for mice. The idea of becoming a cat appealed to him – he had always envied felines their natural grace and elegance.

Closing his eyes, Merlin took a deep breath and set about visualising his cat. Black, he decided, as dark as the ink Arthur kept on his desk, with four white paws and a white bib. A white tip on the tale too, he thought, and a splash of white across an ear – as though he’d been dipped in paint. Blue eyes, like his own – it was too complicated to try imagining anything else – and a pink nose, like all cats had. Whiskers – yes, that was a given – and delicate pink pads on his paws. Discretely, he imagined those things necessary for ensuring he did not change gender, before once again focusing his attention on his fur. White spot on the back? No white spot on the back? No white spot – more elegant looking that way. And a bell: a golden bell on a red velvet collar around his neck.

Satisfied, Merlin opened his eyes and began reciting the seemingly endless ream of words that would allow him to assume the shape of a cat. The words rolled easily off his tongue, gathering momentum and pouring from his lips. The feel of the magic rushing through his veins threatened to tug the image of the cat away from him, but he resolutely hung on.

He could feel it now, starting from the outside and working its way in. He was so close, so close –

A young girl’s shriek rang through the open window, slicing into Merlin’s mind and shattering the young warlock’s concentration. The image of the cat fled from before his eyes, even as the last words of the spell dropped unbidden from his lips. Merlin’s heart beat wildly with adrenaline, as he leapt to his feet and cast about for the source of the noise, only to huff in irritation as he realised the little girl was in no danger, and had simply called out in jest as she ran to escape her brother.  
Muttering to himself, Merlin slumped heavily down onto the bed, automatically twitching his tail away from his legs.

Merlin paused, horrified.

…

Tail?

With a feeling of dread, Merlin slowly turned his head to gaze down at his right thigh. There beside his hip, was a long, sleek tail – black as the ink that sat on Arthur’s desk and tipped with white. It twitched back and forth idly. A brief sensory exploration told him it was protruding from a hole in his breeches.

The sound of footsteps sounded outside, and Merlin heard them far more acutely that he was usual. With a tentative hand, Merlin lifted his hand – oh god were those _claws_ \- and felt around at on top of his head.

There, nestled within his raven hair, were two triangular, velveteen ears. Merlin moaned softly, and shook his head in horror. A bell tinkled merrily at his throat. Wincing, Merlin stroked a finger along the velvet collar, flinching as his skin touched the cold metal of the bell. A horrible thought struck him, and he slapped a hand to his face, patting frantically. Smooth, soft skin was all he felt and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief – no whiskers then.

Still, this could not be happening. How was he going to explain this to Gaius? Despondently, Merlin dropped his head to his chest. His eyes fell on the still open book of magic lying before him. The book, of course. It would have a counter spell. There must be someway to change back. He would say the spell and Gauis would never have to know – he would not be subjected to the disappointed eyebrow.

Frantically Merlin grabbed at the book, only to freeze in horror as an all too familiar voice sounded from the other side of his closed door, accompanied by a rather impatient knock.

“Merlin, open up.” Arthur’s imperious command had Merlin’s blood running cold. The Prince had given him the afternoon off – he was not supposed to need him for anything. He certainly was not supposed to have come to Gaius’ chambers looking for Merlin.

With a mewl of despair, the hapless manservant tumbled off his bed.

“Just a second.” He called desperately, as he thrust the book hastily beneath the pillow, before surging to his feet and attempting to rip the collar from his throat.

It would not budge. With a curse, Merlin hitched his neck scarf higher up his throat and yanked the knot tight. Who would have guessed that a scrap of velvet could be so strong? He would have to find a knife at the earliest opportunity and cut the damn thing off.

Remembering the tail and ears, Merlin made a dive for his cupboard, digging into its recesses for the very ugly and moth-eaten, felt cap that had been left there by the room’s previous inhabitant.

Merlin could hear Arthur shifting impatiently outside the door, and prayed the Prince would not come in to the room. He jammed the hat down onto his head, yelping in pain as he accidentally crushed one of his ears.

Arthur’s disembodied voice drifted through the wood. “Merlin, what are you _doing_ in there?”

Merlin chose not to answer; instead he cast about desperately for some means of hiding his tail. In the end the rather distraught young man settled for concealing the new protrusion beneath the tunic he wore, and donning his jacket to hide the tell-tale lump.

Breathless, both from exertion and fear, Merlin finally opened his door. Arthur stood there, golden features drawn together in a scowl, and arms folded imperiously across his chest.

“You know Merlin,” he said conversationally, tone belying the irritation evident in his face, “I sometimes wonder if you are _ever_ going to grasp the concept of ‘master-servant’. You are not supposed to keep your Prince waiting.” The last few words were enunciated with extra deliberation as though Merlin were a little slow on the uptake.

In reply, Merlin offered a somewhat sheepish grin and a muttered “Sorry, Sire”, whilst giving silent thanks that Arthur was less of a prat than he used to be; time was when he would not have bothered knocking and would have just barged right in.

Deciding that the sooner he completed whatever chore Arthur had for him, the sooner he could return to finding a solution to his problem, Merlin dutifully followed Arthur to the royal chambers, tail twitching anxiously beneath his jacket as he walked. He had to fight the urge to paw nervously at his ears beneath the cap, and settled instead for twisting his hands into the material of his breeches.

Merlin tripped over an uneven flagstone and the bell at his neck jingled softly. One of his hands flew to the hollow of his throat in alarm, pressing down in an attempt to silence the noise. He was certain they could hear it in Ealdor. Arthur must have heard it. He must have. Any second now, he was going to turn and demand an explanation. How in all of Heaven and Earth was Merlin ever supposed to explain _this?_

To both his relief and chagrin, Arthur merely scoffed at his servant’s peculiar antics and rolled his eyes. Apparently the tinkling of the bell had not been as loud as Merlin thought.

They reached the doors to Arthur’s room, and Merlin had never felt so relieved. He followed Arthur in and closed the door with more haste than was necessary, earning him another roll of the eyes from the Prince.

“My father has arranged for me to fight Sir Ewan tomorrow,” Arthur said, naming one of the visiting knights currently residing in Camelot, “I need you to polish and mend _all_ my armour.” The last was said with a nod to the corner of the bed where Arthur’s sword, chainmail, helm and shield lay in a haphazard pile.

With a sigh, Merlin nodded wearily, moving over to pick up the various items. He reasoned that if he took the work back to his chambers, he could set the armour to cleaning itself whilst he found a cure for his condition. That would leave him time to polish and mend the armour himself, by hand. He never trusted magic alone to do a good enough job of protecting the Prince. Merlin always had to check the amour himself, personally, before he was satisfied that Arthur was as safe as he could be before a duel.

Bending down to retrieve the armour, Merlin could feel Arthur’s gaze upon him and his tail twitched with nervous tension. Gathering the various items, Merlin fumbled slightly, his neckerchief getting tangled on the hilt of Arthur’s sword. Instinctively, Merlin jerked his head in an attempt free himself. He froze in horror as the bell at his neck jangled loudly, free as it was from the dampening affects of the scarf. Hastily, Merlin clutched the armour to his chest, blocking the bell from sight.

He risked a nervous glance in Arthur’s direction; the Prince was looking at him curiously.

“Do you hear ringing?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head rapidly, wincing when the bell struck against the helm in his arms, causing the clapper to ring wildly.

“It’s coming from you.” Arthur accused, squinting at the form of his manservant. Merlin knew that look, it was the same look Arthur bestowed upon animals he had deigned to slaughter – well, hunt, but same difference.

As Arthur prowled closer, Merlin took an instinctive step back, colliding solidly with the bedpost.

Why did Arthur need such a big bed anyway? Honestly, it did make avoiding the Prince much more difficult that necessary.

Arthur pinned his manservant in position with a single look. “Merlin,” he warned softly, “ _hold still_.”

Merlin did so, trembling slightly, as Arthur plucked the armour piece by piece from his clutching arms. Sword, then chainmail, helm, shield. Merlin whimpered.

Arthur’s fingers deftly untied Merlin’s scarf and the young man was forced to hold back a sob. There was no way he could explain this – Arthur was going to have him _killed_.

The neckerchief was slid from around his throat, and Merlin quivered in the silence that followed.

“Merlin,” Arthur said at last, and there was a curious tone to his voice, “is that a cat collar?”

Merlin nodded miserably, eyes scrunched tight so he would not have to see the look on Arthur’s face.

Warm, calloused fingers came up to touch the bell, and Merlin shivered for an entirely different reason. His body suddenly realised just how close Arthur was standing. Heat radiated from the Prince’s body, pressing into Merlin like a warm blanket. His breath was hot where it ghosted against Merlin’s ear, and there was that _smell_ that was so irrevocably Arthur: sweat, and leather and liquid sunshine.

A rational corner of Merlin’s mind sniped that his last thought had not made any sense, but Merlin did not care. Because Arthur was warm, and right _there_ and even though Merlin knew he was about to die – because a cat-human hybrid was so obviously the work of sorcery – it was all he could do not to try and kiss his master.

Arthur lifted the bell between his fingers, knuckles grazing the underside of Merlin’s chin. And, to his eternal embarrassment, Merlin _purred_. Arthur froze and Merlin’s eyes flew open, to settle on the Prince’s face.

The blonde was securitizing him with a disturbing level of intensity, his eyes flicking from the bell at Merlin’s throat, to the hat atop his head. Arthur cocked his head, as though noticing the accessory for the first time.

Slowly, as though driven by an almost languid curiosity, Arthur raised his hand and plucked the cap from Merlin’s head. The hat fell to the floor, and Merlin’s ink-black ears twitched forwards and backwards nervously.

“You have ears.” Arthur said, calmly. Far too calmly, in Merlin’s opinion.

“And a tail.” The warlock added, before his brain had a chance to tell his mouth to stop talking.

“A tail?”

Merlin nods.

“Show me.”

Merlin’s mind is racing a mile a minute, shouting at him that this is just the calm before the storm – Arthur just wants all the evidence in before he passes judgement – but another voice, quiet and timid whispered that he knew Arthur better than that; the Prince would not automatically point the finger at Merlin.

Silently, still unsure where this would lead, Merlin slipped his arms from his jacket, before pulling his tunic up and over his head. He dropped both items to the floor. Meekly, the dejected manservant held out both hands, palm down, so that Arthur could see the darkened and elongated nails that now served him as claws.

Merlin kept his head bowed as the minutes passed. He could only imagine what he looked like, and he did not wish to see the disgust in Arthur’s eyes. Eventually, as the silence stretched on, Merlin dared to raise his head.

What he saw in Arthur’s face was not what he had been expecting. The Prince’s eyes were lit with a lustful fire, the pupils wide and dilated.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, unsure if he was reading the situation correctly. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple had the bell tinkling merrily. With a growl, Arthur surged forward, crushing his lips against Merlin’s, hands hot and tight on his manservant’s hips, pulling him closer, closer.

Merlin mewled like a kitten, as he helplessly sank into Arthur’s kiss. His hands were scrambling for purchase on Arthur’s shoulders, claws snagging in the rich fabric. One of Arthur’s hands was tangled in his hair, fingers twining around a velveteen ear. The action caused Merlin to purr deep in his throat, even as his tongue continued to do battle with Arthur’s. It seemed that every noise Merlin made seemed to spur the Prince on as his free hand left its place on Merlin’s waist and reached down to wrap around Merlin’s tail.

Merlin gasped, his knees turning to jelly as Arthur gave the tail a swift, gentle tug.

The chuckle Arthur gave in response was filthy – there was no other word for it. His hands and lips were everywhere, reducing Merlin to a quivering, moaning, _purring_ mass of tail and limbs.

Regaining some of his sense, Merlin leant backwards, tugging Arthur with him, tumbling them both onto the Prince’s enormous bed. As he shimmied up the covers towards the headboard, Merlin set about trying to divest Arthur of jacket, shirt and breeches all at once.

The process was made rather more difficult by the fact that Arthur was simultaneously trying to unlace Merlin’s breeches. After the third failed attempt, Arthur snarled in annoyance, batted Merlin’s hands away, ripped his own clothes from his body and then tore Merlin’s breeches down his hips.

Merlin shivered as the cool air rushed over his heated skin, but the sensation was soon forgotten, when Arthur – with a dexterity only he possessed – flipped them in one fluid movement so that Merlin was now straddling the Prince’s hips.

As their erections brushed together, Merlin groaned only to break of into a gasping cry and Arthur’s hand once again began to brush only his tail.

Bending his head, Merlin began to nibble his way down Arthur’s neck, to his chest, claws lightly tracing circles around Arthur’s nipples. Paying careful attention to the changes in Arthur’s breathing, Merlin flicked the tip of his tongue against the golden skin, purring in satisfaction when Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat.

As the tables turned, and Arthur was the one to become a trembling bundle of nerves, Merlin ground his hips into Arthur’s erection. He undulated slowly, languidly rolling his body with excruciating deliberateness as his tail flicked back and forth with pleasure.

Catching a glimpse of Arthur’s eyes, drowning deep, and heavy lidded, Merlin went in for the kill.

“Meow.” The word was pitch perfect and exact, a precise replica of a pleading kitten.

Arthur surged forward, lips crashing heatedly against Merlin’s, teeth clacking and tongues duelling for dominance. With one hand the Prince scrabbled beneath his pillow for a jar of ointment.

Merlin barely had time to register what the lubricant was for, before Arthur was pushing a single, slicked finger into his tight hole.

Merlin hissed as the slight burning sensation, before his muscles accustomed to the intrusion and he felt himself pushing back against Arthur hand. The Prince smirked in satisfaction, and twisted his finger experimentally. The calloused knuckled brushed against something deep inside Merlin, and the young warlock saw stars explode behind his eyelids. He gave a high pitched, keening cry and Arthur deliberately rubbed over that spot again.

Merlin’s tail was trashing wildly, his body both trying to escape and drown itself in the sensory overload. Every nerve in his body was singing, begging for some form of release.

Grinning, Arthur inserted first one and then two more fingers – scissoring them and stretching Merlin wide. The warlock groaned, and latched his teeth onto Arthur’s chest, biting down, in a desperate attempt to release some of the pressure growing inside of him.

He ground his hips into Arthur’s delighting in the way Arthur bucked reflexively in response. He mewled with disappointment, when Arthur withdrew his fingers, wrapping two strong hands around Merlin’s hips and lowering his manservant down onto his erection.

Merlin groaned in ecstasy as Arthur’s hardened length slid into him. There was no small amount of discomfort - but _gods_ the pleasure. He raised himself up, and then slid down fast, choking as once again Arthur hit that spot inside him.

Below him, Arthur hands were bruising forces on his hips, as the Prince bucked in time to Merlin’s trusts, his breath coming in pants, Merlin’s name falling gently from his lips.  
Bending awkwardly, Merlin gently placed his lips on Arthur’s, offering his master a brief and gentle kiss as one of the Prince’s hand wound down to caress the Merlin’s neglected erection. The warlock’s mouth fell open in a gasp, and Arthur’s tongue slid inside, exploring every inch that he could find.

Arthur pumped Merlin’s cock in time to the rise and fall of his hips, twisting his palm slightly every time he reached the head, and delighting in the way that Merlin swore and gasped and whispered _“more”_.

Suddenly, Merlin went rigid, his head thrown back, Arthur’s name spilling in strangled cry from his lips as his tail clenched tightly around the Prince’s thigh. His own release had been coiling tight in his belly, and the sigh of Merlin climaxing above him, combined with the way Merlin’s hot channel contracted around his shaft, had Arthur tumbling over the brink and into bliss.

With a groan, he came, spilling his seed into Merlin’s warmth, barely registering as the other man slumped against his chest – sweaty and purring in contentment. Gently, as he came back to himself, he rolled Merlin to the side and slid from him – smiling softly at the way Merlin murmured discontentedly at the loss.

The young man was already falling into sleep, and Arthur took the opportunity to pull his companion closer to his side, delighted when Merlin snuggled into Arthur’s warmth and wrapped himself around the Prince.

Questions, such as where this left them and how Merlin came to be in this state, could wait until tomorrow. For now, Arthur was content to sleep – Merlin’s tail gently stroking against his skin.  



End file.
